


A Hidden Darkness

by OTPTillTheEnd



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Hint at PTSD, Steve Rogers Has PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 11:47:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10411464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OTPTillTheEnd/pseuds/OTPTillTheEnd
Summary: How does Steve deal with his hidden dark side?





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my attempt at 'Steve has PTSD'. Starts post CW with flashbacks to the other movies. I know this isn't a proper way to deal with PTSD but it's the way I went with it, sorry if it offends anyone.

Everything has a shadow side, even people.

* * *

  
Even on the run from the law, there’re a few people that couldn’t give a damn about people like himself, that was unless they caused trouble. Who were those people? Kingpins of the underground. They didn’t care about people like him, if there was no trouble and business wasn’t interrupted, they didn’t even bother looking twice at them. This was incredibly useful to Steve for two reasons; one, the less people looked twice at him, the better chance he had at evading General Ross and whoever was on the ground to look for him; two, apparently to some kingpins begin a ‘hero’ meant that they were more than willing to give you the best of the best that they had to offer (probably to make friends or to keep him quite, whatever it was, he didn’t care, he was only glad that seedy motels were out of the picture).  
  
His breath grates out of him, the edges of sweet oblivion so close he could taste it. The hand at her hip flexes, she’s going to have bruises in the morning, welts on her wrists, a few bite marks. But Steve can’t bring himself to give a damn, not now anyway, not when oblivion is so close. If it wasn’t consensual he wouldn’t be doing it, wouldn’t have his other hand fisted into her hair, causing her back to arch as he forcefully moves within in her. The soft sighs she had been trying to keep under control yielding to incoherent moans of unadulterated pleasure.  
  
Burring his face in the juncture of her neck and shoulder, a groan emitted from him as he finally found oblivion, sweet oblivion. For a split second their hearts were rapidly beating as one, both falling over the edge of pleasure, trying to quite their own demons.  
  
Carefully, he slid an arm up her torso to keep her upright while the other undid the cuffs that bound her wrists behind her back. The metal made a muffled sound as it hit the carpet, the bed dipping slightly to one side as Steve moved to lay her on the bed, before collapsing down next to her. It was in these moments afterwards that the noise in his head was silenced, there was nothing to worry about, nothing to feel guilty about, no restlessness, just him in bed. It was as if in those moments afterwards, he could finally feel like himself. Of course, just like everything else in life, those moments never lasted long. As he lay there staring up at the ceiling, the full moon casting a pleasant glow throughout the room, Steve knew he wasn't going to get much sleep.  
  
He had known Natasha had meant well when she had offered over and over to find him a date (even if, from time to time, it had been for her amusement). There was nothing wrong with Kristen or Lillian or Sharon, there really wasn’t, they were amazing headstrong women but they didn’t share his experiences. He had given her the answer to her question when asked why he didn’t want to go on a date with whoever she had suggested. It was hard finding someone with a shared like experience, because it _was_.  
  
Steve was certain that it if he _had_ been willing to date any of the three, they wouldn’t have stuck around for long. There’s only so many sleepless nights, so many outbursts, so many nightmares, so many flashbacks a person is willing to deal with in a relationship before they call it quits. He didn’t want to put them through that, not when they could have a healthy relationship with someone else.  
  
The outbursts go significantly worse after SHIELD fell but for the most part he could keep them under wraps, just like everything else. With SHIELD gone, he set out looking for a new therapist, occasionally making his presence known at a local VA meeting (his body was there but his mind hardly ever was, thus, he never spoke about things he’d gone through, he was too busy reliving them to share).  
  
After the incident with Ultron and Sokovia, the restlessness and numbness worsened. The nightmares stayed the same as did the sleepless nights, because they went had in had like fire and gasoline. Tony had complained that the hex hadn’t affected him like everyone else, that he didn’t have a dark side, which was a bunch of shit. It _had_ affected him, he _did_ in fact have a dark side, but what the hex made him feel and see, he was already used to seeing and feeling on a daily basis. The yearning to go back to the 40s was still in him. The feeling of being an outsider still clung to him like the smell of smoke did to a chain-smoker.  
  
The opaque morning light filtered into the room, fog and clouds clinging to the sky like one does to blankets on a cold winter morning. Tilting his head to the side, blue gaze landed on the pile of red curls that were splayed on the pillow next to him, obscuring the feminine features underneath. They trailed along the curve of her back to where the white duvet covered her and for a moment he could pretend it was….  
  
Scrubbing his hands down his face and along his beard, Steve shook those thoughts from his head, glancing out to the large hotel window, out onto the cool foggy London morning. Expertly, stealthily, he removed himself from the bed. The mattress hardly dripping at the lightened load and proceeded to pull on his clothes.  
  
Padding into the bathroom, he flicked on the light before splashing his face with cold water. The eyes that stared back at him in the mirror where haunted with lack of sleep and a myriad of other emotions.  
  
Exiting the bathroom, he leaned against the doorframe gaze pinned on the sleeping female. Her hair was like fire against the stark white of the pillow and sheets. It was a pattern really, red or brown, occasionally he would wake up to inky black strands and he would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit to the slight disappointment that went through him. It really depended on which city he was in, which kingpin had what he was searching for. Shaking his head, he pushed himself off the doorframe and quietly made his way to the door. The city would change, the hair would change but what wouldn’t change was him slipping out of bed, leaving absolutely no trace of himself


End file.
